5 Detective Novels Magazine Cover — page 74: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

74 O’Hanna asked, “On the level, how do you explain the catsup gag?” “On the level, I don’t know.” O’Hanna swung into the doorway of Room 637. It was already open. He exploded, “Holy hell! Look at it!” HERE was a hell of a lot of blood this time. Ward Tolan lay folded over the upset bureau drawers. He’d been stabbed in the back while he’d been bending and fumbling there. O’Hanna grasped Fred _ Fencer’s lapels. “Damn you, if you’ve been two- timing me again!” Fencer shrank. “It’s a fact. Char- lotte Cobb was even in our agency. She was arranging to shadow Cobb, divorce him, mental cruelty—” “Then you knew it all the time!” © The agency dick swallowed, suddenly nauseated by the whole thing. He gulped, “So I stink. Well, put yourself in my shoes. I’m up against this stuff every day, all day—divorce racket. And for what? Ten bucks a day. I thought I could louse the deal up once and for all, and get a decent, permanent job.” “Keep everybody out of here,” O’Han- na growled. He whirled, ran for the stairs again. Doc Raymond met him at the door of Suite 400. “What is it, Mike? Operator said you wanted me in your office, but you weren’t there, so I came up here.” O’Hanna swore and ran past the physician, swerving into Cobb’s bed- room. “Holy some-more!” Charlotte Cobb swayed in the con- necting doorway. Crimson rilled from the forearm she held close, seeping down over the silver-cloth gown. “What is this?” she asked. “A hotel or a madhouse? I saw a man sneaking in here. He meant to kill Leland, I think. I fought him off—he had a knife—” O’Hanna said, “It’s only a scratch.” He stared into the living room, past her. A picture frame caught his eye. It hung twenty degrees off the hori- zontal, and only minutes ago, he’d seen Doc Raymond straighten it. “Excuse,” O’Hanna said. He wrenched the picture off the wall, dug his fingernails in, tore off the card- FIVE DETECTIVE NOVELS MAGAZINE board backing. There was still enough adhesive on the legal-looking paper then so that it stuck to the cardboard. O’Han- na peered at the Spanish phrases, un- able to read Spanish, but making sense out of the Tijuana dateline that was three years old, and more sense out of the names—Catherine Beale, Leland Cobb. “You fell for this?” he asked. Charlotte Cobb came at him in cat- like silence with a surgical scalpel from Doc Raymond’s instrument bag. “Naughty,” O’Hanna said. She kept coming. He had to hit Char- lotte Cobb on her aristocratic chin... . Sheriff Gleeson said, “I had a blow- out. "Changed a tire on the way.” He peered around Endicott’s office. “Why, where’s O’Hanna? You haven’t fired the guy, have you?” Endicott was embarrassed. “Non- sense. We couldn’t get along without Mike. I’ve always said so.” Doc Raymond chuckled. “It’s all in order for you, Sheriff. Blood group tests will undoubtedly demonstrate that some of the stains on Mrs. Cobb’s dress are Tolan’s blood. You could get a convic- tion on that alone.” The desk phone purred as he spoke. Endicott took the instrument, said, “For you, Gleeson.” “Yeah—hello,” the sheriff bassoed. O’Hanna’s voice was mixed up with strains of juke-box. “Don’t let anyone kid you about Charlotte Cobb,” that voice said. “They streamline ice-boxes nowadays, remember. She’s the type that never fell for a man in her life. She had a million reasons for marrying Cobb—all of ’em printed by the Gov- ernment. Besides, she had it on good medical authority the guy wouldn’t last six months. The reason she kept going to bat for him was in the hope he’d drop dead during one of his God-awful binges. She stuck it out for two and a half years before she decided to settle for a divorce and a fat settlement.” Gleeson gulped. “Just what the—” “Don’t interrupt,’ O’Hanna’s ‘voice said. “This is costing me money. Say yeah, if you’ve got it so far.” “Yeah.” “Tolan’s wouldn’t work, because O’Hanna’s voice resumed. usual racket CoOnniclooo S (C(O) mM